


Masked Metamorphoses

by philsgiggles



Series: Masked Metamorphoses Universe [2]
Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - High School, Enemies to Lovers, Getting Together, Homophobic Language, I don't like conflict :(, M/M, Musical References, Musicals, Performing Arts, Plantboy Phil Lester, Slow Burn, Things escalate kinda quickly, but like also not oop, said by phil cause hes being a dick, sorta?? not really :)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-02
Updated: 2018-10-16
Packaged: 2019-07-23 17:11:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16163267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/philsgiggles/pseuds/philsgiggles
Summary: Sure, people were scared of Phil. Sure, he didn't have any "friends" other than a fuck-buddy who didn't like him and the flower vendor down the street. And sure, college applications were due all too soon. But at least he was the one to get the lead roles. Always. Because he needed them. And he was fucking good at what he did.So when a new boy comes and is praised as the new star of the company, Phil gets understandably pissed. And he decides to make damn good use of his intimidating reputation and persona. Never mind that every time he does so he hates himself a little bit more.(On hiatus cause I realized I absolutely detest WIPs)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The bingo prompts that I am combining are University, Anxiety, and Player's Choice. I'm using "theater" for that last one. Rn, I'm aiming for a blackout, combining the 25 prompts into nine fics... (But I've found myself getting too much into each fic and I'm not sure if they'll all be ready in time because school. I'll finish at least one bingo for sure by then and likely continue posting the remainder of the fics, as I'm excited about the prompts.)
> 
> Get ready for some over-the-top trope action, some excessive cursing, and more superfluous theater references than you'll know what to do with.
> 
> A rough outline of Dan's bedroom I did while procrastinating can be found on the second floor of https://floorplanner.com/projects/58355172-mm-dan-room/editor for spatial reasons
> 
> Follow me on Tumblr @moonroomsnuggles! All shows referenced will be at the end of the chapter! Enjoy, my sweets...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Phil's kinda creepy to Dan at one point during this chapter and I wasn't kidding about the cursing* :)

Dan Howell was nothing special. This Phil knew well. But due to some great cosmic fuckup, no one else could see it. Everyone _loved_ Dan Howell, and Phil hadn't a vague idea why.

It began at the culmination of Phil’s sophomore year. He was coming off of the usual post-show high and rapidly entering the realm of the usual post-show depression. The first time he heard Dan Howell’s name, he was exhausted and idly humming “Pretty Women” to himself while listening to the conversations of those around him.

They were striking, or dismantling, the set alongside the crew to “promote inter-departmental unity” (in reality, strike proved too much work for the techies to do themselves in the time allotted, especially for this show, and they desperately needed help) and conversation was migrating toward the next season’s shows. Phil’s ears pricked when he heard his name mentioned by two girls from the ensemble lazily sweeping up nails from the floor a few feet away.

“It’s definitely _Something Rotten!_. Why else would they mention Shakespeare?”

A guffaw. “Huh, I don’t know - maybe because we’re doing actual _Shakespeare_?”

“But they never sneak-peek the play, only the musical.”

“Whatever. All I know is that we don’t have the right guys anyway. They’re all…” She trailed off, wrinkling her nose. “Mediocre. We got Phil for one of them, ‘cause of course we do, but he can’t play every guy in the show. As much as he’d love to.” She laughed.

“True, true.” They fell silent.

“Wait.” The last girl’s voice spoke up again. “Actually, did you hear about that new sophomore guy?” Phil’s brow furrowed and his hands stilled. Their school very rarely accepted new students of any grade level but ninth; the last sophomore accepted had graduated two years ago when Phil was in his own first year.

“New sophomore guy?” their companion asked, echoing Phil’s thoughts.

“Yeah. ‘Parently he just moved - and he’s really good. He didn’t even have a callback - they just let him in after, like, thirty-two bars. Just like that. Kinda like Lester _his_ freshman year.”

“Damn.” Her voice had an admiring tint. “Who _is_ this guy?”

“Think his name’s Dan. Uh, Howlter or somethin’.”

“Wow, some competition for the _great Philip Lester_. Who'da thunk?”

“Lord knows it’s about time. Might do him some good…”

Phil had heard enough. With that, Phil pushed himself out from under the large piece of paneling he was removing, head held high. He strode past the gossiping girls, who immediately shared looks of fear and fell silent, not bothering to glance their way. His insides were roiling.

_Who is this guy, indeed._

Gossip surrounding the new boy only became more common from that point on. (Drama geeks tended to have a propensity for drama, after all.) Until Phil couldn’t go a single day without someone mentioning this Dan Howell guy in some way.

Not a single member of their small company wasn’t completely _obsessed_ with the guy, or so it seemed. They all talked about him. Constantly. About how great he was, how excited they were to have him join the company. About how he was _going to be the new star of the show - how amazing!_

It set Phil’s teeth on edge.

It was as if Howell was specifically designed to annoy the shit out of Phil. At this point, he wouldn’t have been surprised if the guy didn’t exist and it was all some elaborate prank to fuck with his head - he wouldn’t put it past some of the more bitter ones.

The first day of sophomore year, there were only three things he hated: TERFs, standardized tests, and that one kid who always cracked his knuckles during math. But by the last, a big spot on that list opened up for a certain _mysterious new kid_. Dan had already taken over the theater company without even needing to step foot in the doors and it made Phil's hands clench at his sides.

Walking home that last day, drinking in the heat of summer, Phil vowed to eliminate the name from his vocabulary for the summer. He would forget ever hearing it. He would forget that Dan Howell ever existed.

For both of their sakes.

***

“Phil, get out here!”

_Great_. Her voice was shrill and tight, even more so than usual. Phil knew it hadn’t been a good day.

He immediately slammed shut the little book in front of him and threw it on his bed before heading out of his room. Always was too clumsy for his own good, Phil’s foot made painful contact with the doorframe and he yelped. He hopped on one foot, kicking over a tiny flower pot in the process.

Squatting close to the ground, he inspected it. The plant was long-dead, the pot emptied, so at least no soil had fallen onto his thin carpet. He should probably move it one of these days.

“Phil!” He flinched at her volume. But he hobbled toward the source of the noise nonetheless to find her standing in the kitchen, bracing herself on the counter, uniform still donned and firey hair mussed.

“Honey, why don’t you go out with your friends? I’m sure they would love that,” she said, sharp tone negating the caring words. Phil stayed silent. “Or do people not do that at your school?”

“Yeah. Yeah. They do. We do. Uh, I actually do have plans today. Just wanted to finish some summer work. To get ahead. More than I am. ‘Cause I am ahead though. Very.” Phil Lester did not get flustered. Phil Lester was confident, secure, uncaring. Phil Lester could speak to his own mother without anxiety. Phil Lester kicked himself.

“Good. You’re not behind, are you?”

“No, of c -”

“College is important, sweetheart. Junior year is important. Everything you do is important, and I will not have you slacking off. You understand _that_.”

Phil’s gaze fell. “I know. I won’t. Of course not.”

“Good. Make sure of that. When are you leaving?”

Phil pulled out his phone and checked the time, pretending to calculate. “Uh, actually, I should be getting ready. Thanks!”

“Of course, sweetie. Go ahead. But make sure you’re not forgetting your work.”

“No, no, of course not. Never.”

“Good.”

***

So seven minutes later, Phil was sitting on a plush couch with green bubble tea and his play. Not a bad way to spend some time, but he’d rather be completely alone than sitting in the silence. All of the eyes on him _living his life_ made him anxious.

Everything was easy onstage. There he had control. Sure, an intense sense of vulnerability was required, but he allowed it in (with practice). That was what he was good at.

But strangers being able to see him lounging on a couch, reading… that he was uncomfortable with. But he had to stay out for a few hours at the bare minimum. At least he had his play with him. It was one he had read before, obviously, due to its fame (and author), but every time he read it, more revealed itself to him. And when he finished it, as he was sure he would, he had also brought along _God of Carnage_ for a second interesting read. Not the lightest subject matter in either, but they drew him in. So he was set for a good chunk of time. Hopefully, his mother would go out soon and he wouldn’t have to pretend that people actually liked him much longer.

He could’ve called Eli, but he did want to finish the play, and if he went to his place, he’d be… otherwise occupied. So that was out. Besides, the most “hanging out” they did was five minutes of rest after some of their more intense activities.

When Phil had finally sipped down to about halfway through his drink, the bell chimed softly from the door. As much as he would love to see the business grow, for the sake of the owner, whom he had become closer to through his many visits, he enjoyed how intimate it seemed. Not many in his town drank bubble tea, and out of them, not many knew the little shop was there, squeezed in the corner of a massive shopping center.

Phil glanced up in response to the noise. And his mouth went dry.

Soft curls invaded his vision. A boy had just entered the store. One who seemed to _glow_ , his smooth skin warm and inviting. Phil would go so far as to call it “luminous” if it didn’t make him sound just like the hopeless romantic he was. Phil wondered if it would feel as soft as it looked. A black and white striped jumper hanged off of his elegant shoulders, revealing his delicate collarbones. He wore black skinny jeans and a soft smile.

And when he trained his eyes on Phil, sunshine flooded the store.

Phil’s heart melted into clear pools filling the cavities of his ribs.

The boy’s eyes flickered across his face, taking him in. Phil reciprocated, eyes dipping further than they should have for courtesy’s sake before coming back to rest on his high cheekbones and full lips. They stared at one another, daring the other boy with an unspoken command.

Maybe getting out of the house wasn’t such a bad idea.

“Hello!” The moment was broken harshly as a cheery employee with a name tag reading “Viola” emerged from the swinging door to the quaint dessert kitchen. “What can I get for you?”

The boy stole a last look at Phil before turning to her. His voice was firm as he spoke, obviously with effort. “Large mango with pineapple boba, please.”

“Sure! That’ll be $7.86.”

Phil dragged his eyes away and back to his play. He tried to focus, but his eyes wouldn’t cooperate. He heard a machine whirr to life and was most certainly _not_ watching out of the corner of his eye as the boy shifted from foot to foot subtly, looking his way. But he never went over to Phil’s table, only looking shyly at his feet when he oh-so-casually ran a hand through his soft quiff while reading.

“Here you are! Have a nice day!” The chipper girl returned, large orange drink in hand. The flower logo on its side was turned in Phil’s direction, reflected in cheerful daisies and baby’s breath in the gorgeous boy’s irises.

Viola visibly grew uncomfortable when the tension only grew. The boy thanked her, and she disappeared, grateful to be dismissed. He grabbed a bright yellow straw and plunged it through the lid, sucking lightly, eyes lingering on the lonesome boy across the space. And then he started out the door, causing disappointment to pool in Phil’s stomach. But then he paused.

When the boy made his way over to Phil, his stomach swirled with nerves.

_You’re an actor. You can deal with talking to a hot guy._

“ _The Seagull_ ,” he remarked, referring to the play in Phil’s grip. “Nice one. Maybe not what I would’ve chosen for a midday bubble tea stop, but hey, to each their own.” The shy boy from before slipped away, replaced by a lazy grin. Phil grinned back and a reply on the tip of his tongue was interrupted by a piercing voice to Phil’s right.

“C’mon, Dan! I wanna go to Starbucks!” A blond head peeked through the door. He looked around the shop guiltily, ensuring no one was around who would be offended by his comment.

_Dan_ said nothing. He fixed Phil with a clear look. And then he was out the door, the blond trailing behind him, still chattering away.

Phil sat back into the booth. Dan. He liked that name.

***

He hated that name.

And the first day had been going so well, too! Upon receiving his schedule, he discovered his teachers were somewhat tolerable, he didn’t have math or science first period, and he was able to be in both an acting and a playwriting class along with the after-school musical. And, to top it off, he had a study period right before lunch, which helped alleviate some of his schoolwork worry, though he would study at home as always, as well.

He grinned as he started walking out of the main office. His focus remained on the little sheet in his clutches and he didn’t see the rapidly approaching figure before him.

“Oh, sorry,” he muttered as they collided before slipping away. Glancing back a few paces later, he could have sworn he recognized the honey-chocolate curls in front of him. But that thought was replaced with questions about how to find his homeroom, which had changed classrooms.

His first and second periods passed uneventfully, the only excitement derived from a teacher who decided to dole out participation points for the students who shelved their phones at the start of the class. Otherwise, the syllabi were as expected, and he knew he didn’t have to worry about anything more than he was planning on. Overall, Phil was content with his schedule. He had no friends in his classes, but those were rare anyway, if they existed, and he was in no way disappointed.

But one could skip ahead to his third period of the day, Advanced Acting II, to find the moment when it all went downhill. In a room near the entrance to the sprawling performing arts building, Phil was seated in the front right corner, his left flank facing the door. He was so absorbed in his book, ignoring the chatter of the mindless apes occupying the back rows, that he almost didn't notice the brunet when he ghosted in.

But he did. And everything changed.

Phil’s eyes flicked up as black sneakers padded into the room, past long legs clad in black, higher over a striking black shirt with red and white racing stripes along the shoulders. And into familiar brown eyes.

Phil's breath halted. The boy was looking right at him and he forgot to blink.

A chair squeaked loudly. And suddenly, Phil remembered himself. He pasted on a smug grin and sent a smug wink in the brunet’s direction, resting against the back in his chair, prompting the boy to blush and walk to the empty desk to the left of Phil.

“Hey,” he said. The eye contact never faltered.

Phil responded in kind, tacking on his name at the end. He didn’t miss the little flinch at the sound of his name. Shit. Guess his reputation had gotten around. At least he didn’t say his last name. He had a common enough first name to hope to still have a chance.

The boy raised a hand. “Dan. I’m Dan.” Phil froze. He couldn’t be - no. He wasn’t.

Confident in the assumption that this boy was too _good_ to be who Phil was afraid he was, Phil continued. “This has to be your first year. I definitely haven’t seen you around.”

The boy nodded.

“Welcome, then. You know, it’s perfect timing that you’re here, ‘cause I seem to be -”

“ _Dan?_ ” a high-pitched voice cut in. The boys turned to look at her, revealing a girl with dirty-blonde hair short enough to come up to about Phil’s hip. “Dan Howell? Fancy seeing you here.” She laughed and tossed her hair over her shoulder. She was looking at a different Dan. Yup, that was it.

“Hey, Em!” Dan replied. Phil felt his blood rush to his head. _No. No no no. He’s not…_

Em leaned in, appearing to just notice Phil, who immediately turned straight forward when he saw her eyes on him. This was not fucking happening. Dan was too cute to be the boy Phil had resented for so long. Phil’s lips pressed together in a straight line and his eyes were carefully wiped blank of all emotion. But he heard when she whispered, “What are you doing, man? That’s _Phil Lester_.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Phil saw Dan stiffen and send a hasty look his way. “ _What?_ ”

Em leaned even further in, angling her body away from Phil’s desk. Their frantic whispers decreased in volume further until Phil couldn’t hear any of the conversation. Not that he cared. No, he didn’t care one bit - because the _bubble tea boy_ was _Dan fucking Howell_.

He was sitting next to _Dan fucking Howell_ , he had been _nice_ to _Dan fucking Howell_ , he _had been considering dating Dan fucking Howell_ \- for that matter, he had been considering _fucking_ Dan fucking Howell! He was disgusted.

“Ahem.” The clearing of a throat slammed him back into the present, along with the whispering pair. Em startled and scurried off to the hallway with only a hurried glance back in Phil’s direction.

_And she wasn’t even in the class. Great._

“Great! Now that we have everyone who’s _in_ the class, let us get started. You can call me Ms. Allon. Now I trust that you’ve read the assigned reading?” Murmurs of assent rose from the class. “Fantastic. I’ve already sent you online copies of the syllabus, so there is no need to review it in class. Can anyone tell me why you think I gave you all this play to read? For those of you who do not remember, our theme this year is metamorphosis.”

Phil held in a snort of laughter. The themes only got less original every year. He couldn’t _wait_ to see the chosen texts. He could only hope that he would have dedicated scene partners to make it somewhat productive.

Shit. Scene partners. Phil knew that was a crucial piece of the class from years past. (The school wouldn’t allow an Advanced Acting III or IV just for Phil, so he ended up repeating the class, trying to squeeze out some creative growth from the curriculum. No one would dare go against him.) Each semester, the class was given two plays to work on as the lessons evolved, and were told to incorporate each aspect discussed in class into those scenes through outside work with their partner or partners. Everyone was assigned a role (some were in both plays due to the smaller nature of their parts) and were essentially stuck with whomever one worked with during this time. Most of the work was done outside of class, and if Phil ended up with someone he didn’t want, it would be semi-permanent. Ms. Allon was infamous for never allowing switches or deviances from the norm in terms of group projects. A lack of flexibility was strange for a creative arts teacher, but she was less strict than some of the others, so they were duly grateful for her relative leniency.

Someone had made an answer pertaining to the assigned reading, _Othello_ , but Phil wasn’t listening. He had read it years ago, at the beginning of middle school, and the class’ discussion was obvious enough to be boring. Nine times out of ten, he would listen and participate anyway, but this play in particular had

“Well, that’s rather obvious.” A loud voice objected from Phil’s left. “But why are we talking about Desdemona so much when Bianca is so much more important?”

“And why do you think that is?” Ms. Allon asked.

“So many versions of the play over the years have flat-out erased everything she did. And whatever versions kept her, no one would play her as the feminist character she ended up being. For her time. Why did Shakespeare write her that way? It would’ve been really easy to use her just as a foil, and keep her from having a developed character. Maybe I’m reading too far into it but that’s surprisingly feminist. He must’ve known people would hate it. And they did. Nineteenth century England was not happy.”

“That’s true,” Phil said, surprising himself.

The teacher nodded furiously. “That’s a great point. Anyone have something to say about that?”

The class was deadly silent. At least some things never change.

***

Dan tried to approach Phil after class as he was filing into the hallway, in no rush. He was expecting this. Dan stuttered slightly over his words as he said, “Hey, Phil! That was a really g -”

“You’re Dan Howell?” Phil stopped in his tracks, staring the cunt right in the eye. His blood was rushing through his veins. _Dan Howell_ , the asshole causing Phil to lose so much sleep, was right in front of him. Was _trying to talk to him_. And he was fucking _cute_ , too. If there was any justice in the world, he would’ve been as ugly as Phil was sure he was on the inside. Fury tightened his chest and he sneered.

“Yeah,” Dan replied, crossing his arms, “And you’re Phil Lester.”

“Oh, good. So we know who we are." Phil's bones itched with anger. "And you know how this has to go. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have _important_ people to talk to.” The flowers in Dan’s eyes Phil had so admired earlier crumbled into dust. Phil tried to move past him.

“Oh, really? Who, your invisible friend? Aren’t you a little old for that, _Philly_?”

Phil stopped again, mimicking Dan’s position, a smirk growing on his face. “An invisible friend can’t give me a blowjob in the boy’s bathroom, so no, I don’t think so.”

“Hah. Right. Who’d you find desperate enough to fuck _you_?”

“Why? You jealous, baby?” Phil asked mockingly. “Oh, no, don’t worry, sweetheart! Plenty of other horny fags here,” he said, spreading his arms out, indicating the entrance to the theater and the stream of commuting students. “Even _you_ might be able to get out a quick fuck. I’m sure some needy virgin would just _love_ to get his dick wet, even if it was with Dan Howell.” He let a babying tone slip into the last sentence.

Dan didn’t respond for a moment, shocked. “Jesus Christ.”

He quickly went on, voice hardening. “Y’know, I thought everyone was just making all that shit up. I wanted so badly to give you the benefit of the doubt.” Phil barked a laugh as he continued. “I guess I was fucking wrong.”

“Oh, really?” Phil stepped closer.

“Yeah.” Dan looked right at him defiantly.

“What _shit_ did you hear?” Phil took a final step closer. The sea of people hurrying to class left a wide berth around the pair. He couldn’t find it in himself to care about how their heads swiveled as they passed, trying to catch a glimpse of whomever Phil Lester was talking to.

“Hmm. Let me think.” Phil cocked his head, daring him to continue. Dan raised his eyebrows and stubbornly stared back before calling him on it, much to Phil’s fury. “That you’re stuck-up. That you’re an asshole. That you’re a _dickweed_ that thinks everyone needs to bow down and kiss your fucking ring.” His voice grew stronger, louder. “What did I hear? I heard that you’ve had everything handed to you on a fucking silver plate. You’ve never had to work for anything in your entire miserable life, and you always get whatever role you want. And - _and_ that everyone is _so terrified_ of the _big bad Phil Lester_ who really just needs someone to cry to about his fucking daddy issues. I heard that you think you’re so much fucking better than the rest of us that you can’t even _imagine_ acting like a _decent_ freaking _human being_ to someone who _can’t fucking give you something_! Is there anything else I should hear, _Philly_?” He spit the words.

Well, that stung. 

In a flash, Phil had Dan crowded against the wall, his lips near his ear. He whispered slowly, every word deliberate and full of strength, “You should hear that all of that is exactly true.” The space between their faces grew enough to allow him to flick his eyes downward pointedly, fixing Dan with an expression that disgusted Phil to know how to make, “Oh, but don’t worry about that last part, baby. Because you know what? I changed my mind. You _can_ give me something.”

Dan pushed him backwards, leaving him stumbling back, but Phil just laughed, winking suggestively. “See you later, baby.”

The brunet, still pressed flat against the wall, flipped him off. Phil chuckled again, turning away and ignoring the despair settling in his chest.

Still smirking, Phil fought the powerful urge to slam his face into a wall on the way to fourth period.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shows referenced:  
> "Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street" - Musical: Stephen Sondheim  
> "Something Rotten!" - Musical: Karey and Wayne Kirkpatrick  
> "The God of Carnage" - Play: Yasmina Reza  
> "The Seagull" - Play: Anton Chekhov  
> "Othello" - Play: William Shakespeare
> 
> Kudos and comments make me happier than Dan snuggling in a fuzzy blanket!


	2. Chapter 2

Rehearsal didn’t start until the day after and Phil was free to leave. Thank God.

When his seventh period was dismissed, Phil took his time filing away his supplies in his messenger bag. He was not anxious for his return home.

Not bothering to call for a ride home, he began the long trek back.

The warmth of the air barely registered. His own words echoed in his head, on an endless, torturing loop. He trudged along the sidewalks. Dirt was scattered along the edge for most of the way and Phil watched it swirl and scatter over the concrete. Brown splotches seemed to be ingrained in its very makeup. He wondered if anyone could ever wash it away.

When the dirt trail ended, along with the park, the time passed was a mystery. But he didn’t care. He had nowhere to be, not really.

“Phil!” a voice called from ahead. Phil’s spirits lightened as he half-jogged to the large flower stand.

“Hey, Daphne! How’s it going?”

She tucked a piece of her brown bob behind her ear. “Good, good. Can’t complain. What about you? School started today, right?”

“Yeah. I mean, it’s school,” Phil stated with a shrug.

“I get it. Your play started?”

“Nah. Tomorrow. How’s Beatrice?” Phil smiled softly at her name.

Daphne beamed back. “Perfect, as always! I don’t have to worry about anything with that one. You need to meet her someday!”

Phil nodded vigorously. “Yeah, definitely! I’d love to.” An idea occurred to him. “Actually, I wouldn’t mind babysitting some time if you need a break.”

“Really?” she asked. He didn’t know why it had taken him so long to think of that. He already adored the little thing, even if she had no idea who he was.

“Yeah! As long as you don’t mind me bringing in food - you _do not_ want to see me try to cook.”

“Oh, I can imagine.” She laughed. “But really, that’d be fantastic! Thank you, sweetheart.”

“Of course, Daphne. You got anything for me today?”

“Not today, no. I’m not used to you not being busy! You’re here so early.”

“That makes two of us.” Phil smiled at her.

“But if you want to stop by tomorrow, I’ll have some work for you out back. If you’re busy with the play and all, it’s fine, though.”

Phil pretended to ponder the question. “Will there be sweet tea?”

“Of course.” Daphne smiled kindly.

“Then I’ll be there.” It was at that moment when a man approached, asking about the message a bouquet of yellow carnations might send. Daphne frowned as she hastened over to explain. The rarity of finding a customer who considered the language of flowers made her wary not to disappoint the ones who did.

Phil considered sitting on the half-wall behind the stand leading to her garden like he did sometimes, but knew his mother could be waiting today. Her Monday schedule fluctuated and he never knew what he would find when he walked through the front door.

He finished the journey, quietly unlocking the door and slipping inside. He prawled around the house, scouting for the long copper hair that would have him rushing back to his room.

When he didn’t find her, however, after a few minutes of silently peering around corners, he relaxed and pulled out his phone.

Ringing.

“Eli. Been thinking about you since this morning. Up for a round two?” The corner of Phil’s mouth turned up. “See you then, baby.”

He could use some distracting.

***

“Scene partners!”

The class erupted in whispers.

“That I will be choosing!”

Phil rolled his eyes when silence took over the space. They were big kids; they could handle it.

Mrs. Allon strode to her computer at the front of the class, pulling up a website with a click. The students craned their necks, but Phil could see clearly from his vantage point. It was some sort of wheel-spinning site, with each space on the wheel labeled as an actor. Before she clicked on anything, however, she stood straight once more to speak.

“Metamorphosis. Now, I know many of you already have your guesses. And some are not far off, as our selected pieces are rather recognizable. Would anyone care to share?”

“ _Metamorphoses_?” a boy called, to giggles.

“Fitting, but, alas, no.” Mrs. Allon smiled.

“ _Hamlet_?”

“Unfortunately, I cannot assign multiple pieces of Shakespeare in one semester. But an interesting choice. We must discuss that in further detail.”

“ _The Crucible_?”

“ _The Importance of Being Earnest_!”

“ _Death of a Salesman_?”

“ _Ly - lysistrata?_ ”

By now, the others had given up on considering the theme and were shouting out any and all plays that came to mind, trying to land on the right one. Phil thought. _Ah. She_ had _mentioned a fondness for that earlier._

“ _Eurydice_.” He didn’t need to speak loudly.

“Yes!” Mrs. Allon cawed. “We’re doing _Eurydice_! Can anyone tell me what it is about?”

And guess who raised their hand. The fucking know-it-all. “It’s based on that old Greek myth of Eurydice and… Orpheus?” When Mrs. Allon nodded, Dan continued, “Where she died and to bring her back to life, he had to walk back to the living world without turning back to see if she was following, but he did so she died again.”

“Yes, exactly! Perfect. Now, you need not guess for the second play we will be studying. I am concerned with how lax your definition of “metamorphosis” is, and I would prefer to maintain the level of faith I have in you right now. We will be studying the classic… _Oedipus_!”

Phil frowned. How elementary.

“It has been brought to my attention that the students in Mr. Stene’s Acting I class have not been studying this show as I had believed. One simply cannot take an advanced acting course without first studying the classics, especially _Oedipus_.”

Yeah, yeah. Phil rolled his eyes. Had anyone _not_ read _Oedipus_ before? They were in the advanced secondary course for God’s sake!

He raised his hand.

“Phil?”

“Can I do _Eurydice_?”

“Uh. Yes, of course. Why don’t you be Orpheus, then? Now, to see about your Eurydice…” She returned to her wheel of chance to sift through the names. “You will be with - drumroll please -” The pattering noise of hands slapping against desks sounded.

Phil enjoyed a peaceful moment of satisfaction with the lead role, even if it was expected. These plays would be workshopped for a long while.

“Dan!”

_You’re fucking kidding me._

A sharp knife stabbed itself into his chest, red-hot anger bubbling at the wound and tinting the world the same color. If he had to do this project, someone would wind up dead.

“But, ma’am, Eurydice is a girl.” He would not partner with _Howell_. He’d rather claw out his own eyes and eat them.

Mrs. Allon cocked an eyebrow. “Are gender roles so important to you that you would directly refuse an assignment?”

Jaw clenched, Phil replied, “I just think that Dan would be… better suited in another role. Perhaps as one of the stones?” _Yes,_ Phil decided, _a background role would suit him just fine._

“Unless you are asking to fill that role yourself, which, I might add, is a very respectable one, I would advise you to remain silent and learn some teamwork. An actor must, after all, be willing and able to adapt.” Betrayal filled Phil’s mouth with bitterness. _This wasn’t supposed to happen._

Throughout the exchange, Dan had fallen silent, gazing intently at a spot on the nearly-pristine floor. Phil huffed and shook his head.

“Great. Now that that is taken care of, let’s discover who our Oedipus is!” The wheel spun once more, but Phil didn’t notice.

***

He should have known it was too good to be true. Phil had dodged Dan’s attempts at conversation (not that he had tried all too hard) after class and managed to avoid the boy until about noon, Phil’s pre-lunch study period.

Right hand unconsciously twisted in his hair, he pored over the heavy textbook laid open in front of him, frowning. His eyes skipped another line and he sighed, fighting an appealing drive to rest his head on the table for a short nap. Thoughts flickered in and out of Phil’s mind around the benefits of a power nap to his study habits when sleek black shoes halted in front of the round table he was sitting at alone, just noticeable in Phil’s peripheral vision.

A grating voice began to talk, sending shivers down Phil’s spine. “We need to talk about this.”

Still forcing his eyes down the page, he murmured, “No we don’t. You are not my partner.”

“I am.”

Phil did not respond.

Dan huffed impatiently from out of view. “Look, I’m not happy about this either. But I’m not gonna fail my class because some asshole’s not mature enough to put aside his feelings and - get this - _act_.”

Phil slammed his pencil down, enjoying the way Dan jumped. “Fine. Then talk.”

“Uh…” Emotions crossed over Dan’s face, finally settling on anger. “Fine. Rehearsal?”

“This is my free. You?”

“No. Sub in AP Lit didn’t show so we got a free day.”

“After school?”

“Pretty much just the show.”

“Same.”

“Days?”

“Mondays don’t really work, and I have… things on Fridays and Saturdays.”

“Things,” Dan echoed. “Okay. Tuesday and Wednesday work? Got stuff on Thursdays.”

“Fine.” They looked at each other. Dan wasn’t leaving. “That enough talking for you?”

“Yeah. Perfect.” He rolled his eyes, grabbing a pen out of a side pocket in his backpack and reaching for the other boy’s hand.

“The fuck are you doing?” Phil snatched his hand back.

“Giving you my number? ‘M not gonna wander around the school looking for you if I need something again.”

“Use a piece of paper maybe?”

“Fine.” He scribbled down a string of numbers. “See you.”

Phil watched him walk away. He had the worst luck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shows referenced:  
> "Eurydice" - Play: Sarah Ruhl  
> (yoo-rih-dih-see)  
> "Oedipus" - Play: Sophocles  
> (eh-dih-puhs)
> 
> "Metamorphoses" - Play: Franz Kafka  
> "Hamlet" - Play: William Shakespeare  
> "The Crucible" - Play: Arthur Miller  
> "Death of a Salesman" - Play: Arthur Miller  
> "The Importance of Being Earnest" - Play: Oscar Wilde  
> "Lysistrata" - Play: Aristophanes
> 
> Kudos and comments make me happier than Derek (the Dimple) when Dan lets him shine!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh so I had this finished like over a week ago and could've sworn I posted it?? It's been a crazy ass few weeks sorry y'all.
> 
> (So I'm having trouble keeping the word counts down and I think I'm going to write a much smaller oneshot thing in the same universe and put that down for the bingo and finish this separately. I have too many WIPs I'm so sorry I can't stop.)

“Hello, everybody, and welcome to our very first rehearsal of _The Addams Family_!”

Suddenly, Phil’s ears were assaulted by cheering teenagers, whooping and screaming like the children they were, making him cringe. But still an indulgent smile played upon his face. No matter in what direction the show ended up going or how it turned out, the first week or so of rehearsals was always exciting beyond belief.

“I know we are all excited to begin. But before we are able to kick off auditions, we are going to spend the day reading our very own brand-new, highly-legal scripts!” Mrs. Allon announced with faux excitement, sensing their eagerness to jump into things. A few students shouted, “Yes!” to her great bemusement.

“Circle up, everybody!”

He settled into a space next to her, as her role as assistant director prompted him to treat her with an even more exalted respect than he might bestow upon the others. Besides, the true director, Charlotte, would not be arriving until the next day due to her cousin’s wedding (that Phil had helped her workshop a makeup look for one afternoon). As he waited for the rest of the group to finish their conversations and pay attention, Phil considered, not for first time, suitable rows for himself in this new show. His track record indicated a higher chance of playing one of the male leads, but self-doubt wriggled into the empty space. He knew he didn’t deserve any of the roles he had gotten, and one day someone else would, too.

But no matter. He would simply have to ensure his preparedness for the auditions in the coming days. The summer was filled with rehearsing and improving and studying, and though he knew intellectually he was off to a good start, his traitorous heart screamed, “You’re not good enough!” at a pitch to rival his classmate’s cheers.

The stage manager, a charming senior named Elizabeth, passed out scripts from inside the circle. Phil had a large berth around him, save for the space occupied by Mrs. Allon, but his expertly-crafted expression displayed that he didn’t mind in the slightest. (Phil himself, however, wasn’t convinced by this performance.)

When he received the pristine white script, already organized into a clean three-ring binder, his heart jumped. _It was starting._ After the cast finally received their scripts, the directors briefly explained the plot and the actors read through the entire show, line by line, moving counterclockwise around the circle.

In short, the show revolved around the iconic Addams: Morticia and Gomez, the parents, their two children, Wednesday and Pugsley, the grandmother who lives in the attic, and a zombie-esque butler. When Wednesday falls in love with a boy, Lucas, from a “normal” family and they decide to marry, their families must meet. And chaos ensues.

It was practically a staple of high school theater, from how often it was produced, but a fun experience nonetheless, both for the actors and the audience. And Phil knew exactly who he wanted to be: Gomez. He and Morticia were passionately in love - emphasis on “passionate” - and their tangos would be _exhilarating_ to perform, he had a Spanish accent, which Phil would love to challenge himself with, and, of course, he was arguably the male lead, with several solos. The role was nothing short of perfection in Phil’s eyes.

So he would fight tooth and nail to get this part. No matter what he had to do. Because not only was it important to his personal life, universities noticed these types of things. What kind of message would come across if he landed his first ensemble role since middle school in his _junior year?_

A battle against the senior men vying for the part was brewing, but Phil welcomed the competition. They’d see who would get it in the end. Most likely. Hopefully. Maybe.

So maybe he wasn’t as confident as he would like to appear to be. _Maybe_ he was going just a _smidge_ crazy over auditions. And _just maybe_ he did not, for one single solitary moment, believe that he would get the part, no matter how his resume might protest.

“Auditions!” Mrs. Allon called over the noise, shutting down the chatter instantaneously. “I know most of you all have taken part in our audition process, but as a refresher and for those of you who are joining us for the first time, I will give to floor to Elizabeth with the logistics of the days. Elizabeth?” She sat down, rolling her shoulders and sighing surreptitiously at the motion. Phil frowned at the motion. Perhaps he could bring her hot tea the next day if her back was flaring up.

“Thanks! So, yeah, auditions. You will show up here at three, like always, and warm up individually if you want. There’ll be group warm ups later with Mr. Day, but if you wanna get a head start, you can. Dance auditions will be first, then singing. You’ll be given a combination, but you should have thirty-two bars of two contrasting songs already prepared. Remember, guys, that this is an audition for the whole year. There’ll be smaller ones and callbacks for the other shows, yeah, but this is pretty much your chance to show them what you got. Speaking of - callbacks!” She took a deep inhale, visibly tensing in preparation of having her next words dismissed by the self-absorbed actors sitting around her.

“They do not determine your worth as an actor. Let me repeat that. _They do not determine your worth as an actor._ ” Her words faded together as Phil stared across the circle, above his castmates’ heads. He had heard the spiel many times in his decade of theater, and knew it by heart. Not that he believed it, but he could recite some version of it from memory with no trouble.

Unfocused gaze landing on the rigs and pulleys of the fly system, the ropes that raised and lowered anything from signs and set pieces to people. Phil smiled fondly at the memory of a production of _Peter Pan_ he caught during a tour of the school in eighth grade. It was undisputable, whether or not Phil believed in his talent, that the company had improved its already stellar program since his arrival. Whether it was from his professionalism or drive inspiring others or their obvious need to spite him for whatever reason they concocted that week, the shows had grown in quality exponentially. Though it might be presumptuous to assume it was all him; Charlotte had started a year before he arrived and she and he discussed many times ways of improvement. He was sure she made a difference.

“So break a leg, everyone! See you tomorrow at three o’clock exactly!” A flurry of motion erupted, chattering teenagers gathering their scripts, pencils, water bottles, and other assorted items before rushing out, presumably to cram-rehearse for their audition. The black-haired boy at the front took his time. He knew where he had to go next, and he was in no rush. But before his various tools were all scooped up, the boy he was dreading seeing was yapping away to him.

“You have a car?” Phil looked up.

“I usually walk. Better for you.” Pride clamped his lips shut after the short statement, but Dan accepted the answer, nodding. His curls bounced and Phil’s attitude worsened. That boy pissed him the fuck off.

“Me, too. I live literally two minutes away. What about you?”

“Not that close.” Phil cocked an eyebrow. “My place or yours, then?”

“Mine,” Dan answered smoothly, turning on a heel toward the back exits. When Phil didn’t move, he added, “Well, are you coming or not?”

Grumbling, Phil followed reluctantly. The bag slung over his shoulders hurt his neck from its downward pressure, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care. But as he and Dan turned the corner away from the blocky buildings of the sprawling school in complete silence, traveling in the direction of a well-traveled street corner, Phil regretted his decision. Of course the way to his house led past the flower stand.

He could handle dealing with the prick for a few hours for the sake of theater, but negotiating the relationships between Daphne, Dan, and himself, would be uncomfortable to say the least. He didn’t know how he would act - should he be like how he was around Daphne or around Dan? Someone had once told him that the reason he showed different sides of himself to different people was to keep himself from getting hurt. If everyone only has one part of his being, they cannot use it to harm him. Or maybe he was just a masochistic bastard. Either one worked.

Bright colors appeared in the boys’ line of sight, warning of the upcoming visit. Phil hazarded a quick glance at Dan before snapping his head straight forward once more.

When they were only a few feet away, Phil made a quick decision. “Stay here, would you?”

“What?” He sounded affronted.

“I’m gonna say hi to a friend. Just wait here.”

“Yeah, sure, whatever.” Phil rolled his eyes, the younger boy unsurprisingly grating on his nerves.

“Phil!” Daphne’s voice greeted him. He had always admired her voice. No matter how loud she got, there was never that edge that many people developed, roughening the tone. It remained musical, soft and full, coming from a place deep in her soft tummy. While in the middle of a conversation after strenuous rehearsals in the past, he had fallen asleep on the nearby hip-height wall multiple times to the lullaby of it, always changing in pitch, high and light in one moment and low and full of mirth in the next.

“Hey! Can’t stay long - gotta work on some theater stuff with a friend,” Phil said, subtly gesturing in Dan’s direction behind him, “But I wanted to stop by. I am so so sorry about not being able to come today! I just wanna get this over and done with and he wanted to do Tuesdays, so…” Phil shrugged, toying with his hands. “I’ll definitely come by Thursday? If that’s okay?”

Daphne only looked disappointed for a split second before the ever-present quirk returned to the corners of her mouth. “That’s alright! I told you ‘whatever you need to do…’”

“Yeah, yeah. I know.” He would have to bake her snickerdoodles for his visit in two days. Bee would love them, and her mother would certainly not turn up her nose at some extra sugar. “Thank you.” Deliberation. Guilt still festered in his belly, but she would have his hide if he dared apologize again. “Guess I gotta get going, then. My ‘friend’ over there’s probably getting impatient.” He tried to keep his voice neutral at the familiar term.

“Go ahead. I don’t wanna keep you from your ‘friend.’” She shooed him off with a wink that told Phil he had effectively failed.

“Alright, alright, I’m going. Say hi to Bee for me.”

“Will do,” she responded, returning to her quaint wooden stool.

“Oh, wait!” Phil exclaimed.

“Yeah?”

“How did the science fair go?”

Daphne smiled and said, “You know Bee. She loved it.”

“Yeah, I’m sure she did,” he said, returning the smile. The girl was notorious for dragging her “unwilling” mother into the TV room for hours of old Bill Nye or nature documentaries, spouting strange facts left and right. She was a hell of a lot smarter than Phil, that’s for sure. The man in question turned around to call for his lingering companion, only to bump straight into his chest. Posture straightening to match his height, he stepped back like he was burned.

“I told you to wait!”

Inspecting his frowning face, Dan said, “And I didn’t. My house is just up here.” He set off down the street, Phil reluctantly following. He would not grumble or complain. But he would have to be more careful with Dan in the future. They both nodded to Daphne as they passed, Phil receiving a raised eyebrow and an amused expression.

The pair walked quickly, Phil eventually having caught up with the other boy in order to walk across a crosswalk efficiently. Their speed grew so fast, in fact, that soon Dan was stumbling after Phil over cracks in the sidewalk. But neither ran. Because that would indicate desperation. And whatever they were, they were not that.

Panting (Phil more quietly, he noted, satisfied), they soon arrived at their destination, or at least its entrance: a long driveway with a goddamn _guard booth_ at the end. Phil almost turned around right then and there. Some things just… grossed him out. But he kept going, unwilling to show a chink in his armor, until they passed by and through the gate (“Hello, Daniel”, “Hey. This is Phil. He’s here for a bit”, _beep_ ), and were approaching a sprawling house at the end of the way, past several others.

Flowers resided in the front and curving around the sides, little and big, but colorful all. There was something endearing over the apparent spontaneity of it, like someone had noticed a pot on the street and brought it home to plant, uncaring of the overall landscaping theme. Pink asters lining the front steps, brilliant yellow goldenrod under the windowsills, delicate patches of butterfly stonecrop, and purple fall crocuses beside them. Monkshood stood tall by the corners of the house, completing the vibrant array. Many plants to attract butterflies, Phil recognized. Perhaps that was unintentional. Along the edges of the property resided a short strand of shrubs with only _vaguely_ familiar white blossoms. Phil frowned and his gaze lingered as they went inside. It wasn’t often he encountered a flower he couldn’t recognize, from his time with Daphne and an embarrassing amount of time spent as a closet horticulture enthusiast. (“Plant boy,” Phil corrected himself inwardly. “Horticulture” sounded… icky.) But he dragged his line of sight back to the door and Dan’s questioning look (which was immediately wiped when Phil’s eyes laid upon it).

“C’mon. My parents aren’t here.” Not bothering to toe their shoes off, they went up long stairs to the second floor, where Dan’s bedroom resided. It was large, decorated in neutral shades with shades of blue thrown in for good measure, including the paint of the wall in which the door was set. There was a good amount of space between his bed, which faced the door, and the wall, which Phil supposed would be helpful if they had to rehearse there more. Dan also had a desk against the left wall with a window overlooking the backyard, a mirror in a corner by the door, and prints hung on the wall across from the desk.

In a trance, Phil drifted toward the wooden desk and stared out the window at the gorgeous garden below. Or rather, “gardens”. The backyard looked like that of a royal palace, and Phil briefly played with the image of baby Dan in formal wear skipping around with a nanny chasing after him. _Pink and purple and yellow and blue and green_ blurred together and a smile threatened to encroach upon the stoic observer’s face.

He swiveled swiftly, dropping his backpack on the plush white carpet and digging around for his script as Dan began to speak.

“I’ll assume you’ve read the play before.” Phil just scoffed in answer. “So that’s a yes. Good. So have I. Anyway, our first scene - it’s important. Maybe it’s not like that whole ‘building a room out of string’ metaphoric thing - though pretty much everything in this show is a metaphor of some sort, of course - but it starts it out and all this foreshadowing is giving me a headache. So basically, we can’t fuck it up.”

“I’m not gonna fuck anything up. So unless you’re planning on it…” Phil raised an eyebrow.

“No. Just wanted to make sure you could be professional instead of making snarky comments all the time.”

“I don’t snark.”

“Sure you don’t.” Dan snarked. “But whatever. My point is I don’t really want to start out with that one.”

Phil wholeheartedly agreed. Seeing as their characters were wildly in love, and almost Romeo and Juliet-esque in their youthful passion, their first scene was… touchy. At one point, Dan had to crawl on top of Phil and _kiss his eyes_ (which was strange in a whole other way). So he was fine pushing it off for a while.

“Fine, then. Now who can’t be professional?” Phil continued before Dan could speak, “Then what do you want to start with, Your Highness?” He made a mock bow, sweeping his arm out in front of him, and finally found his script. Dan started to speak as he rose.

“I don’t know. Just not that one.”

“Why? Are _you_ afraid of the big bad Phil Lester now? Don’t worry, baby, I’ll be gentle. I know it’s your first time.” He was being unfair, and far more crude than he would usually be, but something in Dan sparked a fire low in his stomach and he couldn’t help it. Though the fire did nothing to muffle the sharp pang of guilt following the crass words.

“Just shut the fuck up and find us a scene.”

“As you wish.” They settled into an uncomfortable silence, tension in the air, both scanning the text for an acceptable scene. To Phil’s dismay, the scenes that would be productive to work on together instead of alone were all cut from the same cloth. He couldn’t fucking wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments make me happier than Dan scarfing down food with tears of joy in his eyes.
> 
> Love y'all so much!

**Author's Note:**

> More coming very soon!


End file.
